I groaned. “Someone is at my door. And they are ringing the bell like a maniac.” Well, maybe not like a maniac, but they rang my doorbell twice. Still! It was a Sunday morning, and I wasn’t expecting anyone.
“You should go see who is there.”
“I guess,” I said, unenthusiastically, as I further decreased my pace and then powered down the machine. I had zero interest in making small talk with a stranger who wanted to sell me some useless junk or sign a political petition.
“I guess. Give me five and I’ll call you right back.”
“No. I’m running out the door. I have to drive Amanda all the way to Forest River for a birthday party. If only I’d known before I moved that my kid would still be invited to parties there, I’d have stayed put. I swear, I’m going to end up in the poorhouse thanks to all the gift cards I have to buy. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Oh,” she exclaimed as if the idea just hit her, “let’s do lunch.”
Before I could reply that we already were scheduled for lunch, she disconnected the call. I grabbed the towel that dangled from the edge of the treadmill. I dabbed at my perspired face as I walked down the staircase toward my front door. I glanced through the sidelight and was surprised to see the back of a tall police officer.
I opened the wooden door tentatively. “Hello. Can I help you?”
The man turned around slowly, and I recognized him instantly.
“Oh, it’s you,” I said, my tone turning icy. I have a long memory. I don’t easily forgive or forget, and I was still smarting from the fine he issued me last month as well as his abominable attitude. I started to tap my foot on the floor rapidly. “If you’re looking for a donation to the police benevolent league or something, Officer Ennis, you’ve knocked on the wrong door. After the way you treated me, there is no way I am giving you a red cent!”
“Oh, so you remember me? I’m flattered.” He smiled, and I kicked myself for being so vocal. Feeding his already inflated ego was the last thing I wanted to do.
“Yes.” I crossed my arms protectively over my practically bare body. I was only wearing a workout bra top and super short shorts. I scowled. “I never forget a face.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Hmm.Oh, really?Interesting.”
“Yeah, really! It’s a talent, I guess.” Who did he think he was with his sarcastic attitude?The nerve of this guy!
“So now, if that’s all, I’m rather busy.” I started to close the door, but he placed his hand on the wood.
“Hold up,” he said. “I’m not soliciting for funds. Actually”—he held his pointer finger in the air—“if you receive a call from someone asking you to donate, be careful. More likely than not, it’s a scam. Sadly, so many people find themselves susceptible to fraud. Did you know fraud is a multi-billion-dollar problem?”
“Yes, so I’ve heard.” I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for the information. I will take your warning under advisement. Clearly, you didn’t show up at my door to teach a lesson on scam artists. If you don’t want money, what do you want?”
“Maybe it’s best if I come inside to talk,” he said, reaching for the screen door handle.
“No,” I said firmly. “We can have this discussion right where we are.” Mittens, my rescued tabby, rubbed against my legs. “And don’t open the screen. I don’t want my cat getting out.”
“Oh, you have a cat?” he asked. Was there an edge to his voice? Why did he make me feel like a cliché? The single spinster with her feline.
I pushed my sweaty hair off my forehead and shivered slightly, as I always did if I didn’t shower right after a workout.
He took inventory of what I was wearing, or better put, not wearing. “If you need to put on a sweatshirt, I’d be happy to wait.”
“No, I’m fine, unless”—I made a sweeping motion with my hand from my face to my chest—“I’m makingyouuncomfortable?”
“Not at all.” His eyes met mine and he held his gaze for a few seconds before he shook his head and said, “I’ve seen it all before.”
I gave him a closed-mouth smile in reply.
He glanced in the direction of my annoying next-door neighbor’s house. “I’m here responding to a call, Ms. Ensworth.”
I couldn’t decide if I was impressed or annoyed that he remembered my name. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of reacting. Instead, I asked, “What type of call?” At once, I realized he figured out my name by comparing it to my address.I should have known better than to assume he remembered me.
“A complaint.”
“What?”
“A complaint,” he repeated as if I was hard of hearing. “Your neighbor Mrs. Monroe contacted the station.” He glanced down at his shoes and struggled to keep a straight face, which didn’t give me the warm and fuzzies. “She claimed your landscapers were blowing leaves on her property instead of properly disposing of them.”
I glared at him. “You’re kidding, right?”
